


there you go on the dark end of the street

by Pistol



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Caveat Lector: Let the Reader Beware, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-01-01
Updated: 2020-01-01
Packaged: 2021-02-26 04:17:08
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,084
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22062079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pistol/pseuds/Pistol
Summary: The woods are dark, but Stiles isn't afraid. There are scarier things in this world than the absence of light. An absence of a father, for one.
Relationships: Derek Hale/Stiles Stilinski
Comments: 2
Kudos: 44





	there you go on the dark end of the street

**Author's Note:**

> A long time ago in a galaxy far, far away Coinin and I were talking about what would happen if Gerard had threatened Stiles' father the way he did Melissa. The conversation devolved and this happened.
> 
> A million thanks, forty thousand hugs, and four longing looks to verstehen1 & coinin who beta'd this for me <3333 (all remaining mistakes are mine, and mine alone.)
> 
> Title borrowed from You Ain't Alone by Alabama Shakes.

"You always hear about how police work can be such a _dangerous_ job," Gerard smiles, one side of his lips pulled higher than the other. "It'd be such a shame if your father got himself hurt because of you and Mr. McCall's actions."

Stiles pauses over the produce section, the perfect avocado that he had been searching for now bruised and misshapen in his hands. "Are you thr-"

"It's getting dark out," Gerard cuts him off. "You should get home. After all, it _is_ a school night."

There's a firm pat on Stiles' back, too strong to be friendly. Undoubtedly Gerard’s actions looked warm and grandfatherly to anyone who happened to notice the local principal interacting with one of his students.

Stiles isn't sure how long he stays there, staring at an avocado he won't buy while around him the supermarket continues its quiet song of shopping cart wheels and clinking cans.

+

His dad wants pizza that night and isn't surprised when Stiles vetoes him. Instead they eat baked chicken and instant mashed potatoes in front of the TV, adding their own commentary to the terrible movie playing on SyFy. By the time their plates are empty the mutant hedgehogs have already killed half of the campers.

"And no one thought to pick up their phone and call the cops? It's like no one has any common sense," John complains half-heartedly as a scantily clad camp counselor and her boyfriend wander off into the woods to see what's making all that noise. "They're all going to get themselves killed."

Stiles laughs, pretending that he's never wandered alone in the woods or had to learn the hard way that sometimes what's waiting in the dark won't always kill you, sometimes it just changes you. Stiles still isn't sure if the change is for the better or the worse but he is momentarily grateful Scott became a werewolf instead of a werehedgehog.

+

Stiles' search of various key words has pulled back very little of interest and nothing overtly supernatural in origin. One town over there is a warning going around to exercise caution when going out alone at night as violent muggings are up almost twenty percent this month. In the same town a local dog is raising an abandoned kitten as his own. Stiles watches the Daddy Dog video twice before getting back to work.

"Nothing?" Scott asks for the third time in as many minutes.

"Nada," Stiles agrees, "the news is free of any signs of Kanima shenanigans."

Scott nods, looking unsure if that's a good thing or a bad thing.

+

Stiles' Jeep has a steel E Tool; one of the many random items his mother had taken with her when she had left the Marines. The E Tool - much like the olive drab sleeping bag that Stiles had once used during nap-time and the MREs that were older than him when he ate them - has her maiden name,_Prondzinska_ written on it in faded black marker. The night is cold enough that the hood of his Jeep is still steaming long after it's parked. Despite the chill in the air the E Tool is still warm in Stiles' hand when he tucks it under his sweater.

Stiles fishes around one handed for the repurposed water bottle hidden under the passenger seat, opening it with his teeth when he finds it. He takes a burning mouthful of the contents, swishing it around his mouth before spitting it out on the forest floor. He splashes the rest onto his shirt and his right sleeve before tossing the bottle away.

The woods are dark, but Stiles isn't afraid. There are scarier things in this world than the absence of light. An absence of a father, for one.

+

Gerard's men are easy enough to find, high-strung but still cautious when they catch sight of him. He's empty handed and making a racket as he stumbles around on rocks on and roots, making his humanity obvious enough that they don't shoot him on sight. They glare and posture but let him come close enough that he can lean too far into the personal space of the nearest man.

"Are you guys lost too?" Stiles slurs, pretending not to notice how the hunter winces from the smell on his breath before he pushes Stiles away. He goes limp, falling ungracefully with a shout of feigned surprise.

"You shouldn't be out here, kid, get home and get sober. These woods are dangerous at night."

Stiles laughs, because yeah, yeah they are. Too bad hunters hadn't been in the woods to impress that upon him and Scott last year.

+

Stiles shows up at Scott's unannounced and he wonders when Ms. McCall started to look genuinely surprised by him using the doorbell.

"He's actually out-"

"With Allison?" Stiles finishes with a smirk.

"I'll let him know you stopped by," Ms. McCall promises with an apologetic smile. There are dark circles under her eyes that seem to get worse each time he sees her, Stiles mentally adds those circles to the list of things that scare him.

He still remembers a time when his dad and Ms. McCall seemed bigger than life. Lately, they just seem tired. Fragile. Other words Stiles isn't damaged enough to feel comfortable associating with them.

+

Stiles spends half an hour sitting parked behind the police station. The light is still on in his dad's office, and through the crack of the blinds Stiles can see an In-N-Out bag sitting on the desk. Stiles ignores the urge to call his dad out on his contraband but it isn't worth explaining to him why he's lurking outside the police station.

He's not close enough to see, but he knows that the dark circles Ms. McCall had under her eyes are under his dad's eyes too. No one in Beacon Hills seems well rested these days.

Stiles sends off two texts without really looking at the glowing blue screen. Neither Scott nor Derek replies, but that's nothing new. Stiles sends his dad a text as an afterthought before turning his key in the ignition.

+

For the last few years Stiles has gotten a word-a-day calendar from his Aunt. She hasn't known what to get him - much less what to say to him - since his Mom passed, so each Christmas he gets a calendar and a check and she gets a randomly selected card in the $3.99-4.99 range.

The day after Scott's first full moon Stiles had sat down at his desk, picking up his previously untouched gift and turning it over in his hands before manically tearing pages off one by one as he searched for a word to describe the feelings coiled inside his chest. He remembers the numb panic as the stack of pages got smaller and smaller without any hints that another person somewhere, at some point had felt what he was feeling and lived long enough to give that feeling a name.

Derek had shown up at some point in-between _brontide_ and the fire engine red of the plastic that the pages had been mounted on. By the time Stiles had torn his eyes away from the barren plastic Derek's shoes and socks were already tugged off and tucked into a corner, his jacket draped over Stiles' bed.

At the time, Stiles had been grateful for the distraction. Even if his distraction had been created by the fugitive he was harboring under his father's roof.

A year and some change later Stiles still can't find the right word but he has developed a patience that allows him to rip the pages of his new word-a-day calendar one day at a time and has worked out the start of what he likes to call his internal IFF that keeps his jumping to a minimum when Derek materializes from the shadows of his room.

"Hey," Derek says softly. He's always softer when his shoes come off. When the sun is tucked away for the night and Derek's feet are bare it's easier to remember that once upon a time someone loved Derek enough to teach him how to be kind.

"I just downloaded MST3K's _Red Zone Cuba_. We should watch it and then maybe we should fuck," Stiles says in a steady voice. Someone loved Stiles too, but the lessons he learned were forgotten or transmuted about the time his Mom's teas started to overflow from their kitchen cupboards because no one was drinking them and from time to time Stiles or his dad would forget and buy more when they went shopping.

Derek shrugs and looks simultaneously bored with the world and dismayed by Stiles' blue room and the person who dwells in it. "Why not?"

+

They watch half of the movie silently until Stiles' attention span reaches its limit. By the time Stiles turns to face him, Derek is already leaning back on the bed like he could smell Stiles' intent. Maybe he could but Stiles doesn't care enough to ask because there are things Stiles doesn't feel the need to know, not many of things, but they do exist.

Derek is studying the glow-in-the-dark stars pressed onto Stiles' ceiling, avoiding Stiles' eyes even as he lets Stiles push him down on the bed. It isn't all that surprising that Derek is different here too, a new animal that doesn't fit with the leather jacket that makes Derek a killer or the bare feet that makes him someone's son. Underneath Stiles Derek looks a bit like a kicked dog, twitchy and ready to run or fight.

"You're kinda giving off bad touch vibes here, man," Stiles knows his moral compass has lacked a true north for a long time but it's still true enough for him to pull back and give Derek space. "Is this okay?"

"It's fine," Derek snaps at him, grabbing and pulling Stiles' head down to meet him in a kiss that's more teeth than lips. "I'm stronger than you," Derek reminds him, "if you did something to me I didn't want I'd just rip yo-"

Stiles rolls his eyes, "Yeah, yeah, your teeth, my neck, got it." He frowns, watching Derek because this Derek is still _new_, and new things are rarely good when there are wolves in the woods of California and lacrosse players sometimes become lizard people.

"Are you planning on actually doing anything anytime soon or do I need to draw you a diagram?" Derek scowls up at the ceiling like it's responsible for all his problems which is all kinds of wrong because Stiles knows for a fact that his glow in the dark stars have never hurt anyone, a claim no one else in Stiles' room can honestly make.

"You know, most people don't look quite so miserable before sex."

Derek snorts. "Like you have any experience that isn't connected to the internet and your hand."

Stiles smiles, finding the snark and sour attitude oddly comfortable. He's never really thought about it with any serious intent before but it makes an odd sort of sense that any sex between them wouldn't involve tender looks and sweet nothings. Stiles leans down, biting into the tightly coiled muscle over Derek's clavicle until his jaw is sore and Derek is hissing something that's a mix between pain and pleasure.

+

When it's over, Stiles knows without asking that the whole experience was remarkably disappointing for both of them. Derek hadn't met Stiles' eyes before, during, or after the sex. Stiles doesn't take it personally.

Stiles knows that Derek doesn't get touched very often. He's not exactly a guy who gives off the 'huggable' vibe to begin with, much less a guy who looks like he knows how to smile without being sarcastic. Still, Stiles knows he spent more time than he's comfortable thinking about touching Derek just to watch him struggle between ignoring Stiles and pressing into each touch like it might be his last. It made their sex awkward, twitchy, and yeah, the internet lied because there _is_ such a thing as too much lube. Stiles' sheets will never be the same.

On a whim, Stiles touches Derek's cheek to see if the stumbble there feels the same against his fingers as it did on his face. He's surprised by his own action, but not by the way Derek flinches back from his touch. Stiles pulls his hand away, flopping onto his back so that they're lying side by side as far away as Stiles' bed will allow, which still means their arms are touching. Laying there is as new and uncomfortably awkward as the sex had been.

"What happened to you?" Stiles asks, not sure if he cares about the answer he's seeking.

Derek clenches his jaw and says nothing as he pushes himself off the bed. He's gone before Stiles gets any answers, and Stiles thinks maybe it's best this way. He has school in the morning, after all, and spending all night contemplating damaged werewolves isn't conducive to sleep.

+

School drags by with a pleasant tedium that doesn't require Stiles running for his life or researching things that might be the only thing to save someone else's. When Scott slides his lunch tray next to Stiles, he knows from Scott's nervous look around the cafeteria that his moment of peace is about to be shattered. People will probably be running and fighting soon, Stiles bets. If he's lucky he'll be skipping that portion and only battling paper cuts from ancient tomes and carpel tunnel from frantic Google searches.

"Allison says three hunters didn't show up to a meeting last night."

Stiles takes a bite of his apple, chewing thoughtfully. "Are we talking Kanima related disappearance or are the hunters unionizing and starting a strike?"

Scott shakes his head, "Whatever it was, it doesn't look wolf related. Someone or something bashed their heads in and took their weapons."

"Dude," Stiles scrunches up his face appropriately.

"I know, right?"

They spend the rest of lunch talking about nothing, Scott avoiding the topic of Allison while Stiles avoids talking about tearing up his V-card with a person who isn't even his friend.

+

Stiles texts Derek after school and can't decide if he's surprised or disappointed that Derek's waiting for him in his room when he gets home.

"We cool?" Stiles asks, throwing his backpack on the floor.

Derek rolls his eyes, and yeah, they're cool.

"Chris Argent stopped by today," Derek tells him with a seriousness normally reserved for B-movie apocalyptic prophecies.

"The hunters in the woods?"

He nods, "He questioned me, but he didn't believe it was actually a wolf."

"He's probably just keeping up appearances," Stiles points out, "rounding up the usual suspects and putting the fear of Hunters and their wacky ways in them." Before Derek can say something snarky or depressing Stiles crosses the room until he's close enough to touch Derek if he wanted to. "Want to have more awkward sex and see if we can't do better than last time?"

Derek laughs, so quiet Stiles almost mistakes it for a deep breath, but nods. "Later you need to see if you can find anything out about-"

"The case of the dead hunters in the woods, right, right," Stiles agrees, "just call me Nancy Drew, 'cause I'll solve this mystery."

Later, Derek's eyes crinkle up just before he comes and Stiles is 80% sure he calls him _Nancy_. Stiles doesn't know what to do with that, so he ignores it. He's really good at ignoring things.

+

One week later they skip the bed, the wall behind Deaton's office working well enough for a quick fix. When Derek hisses Stiles' name, it's the first time Stiles notices that his name has become something more than a name when it slips out of Derek's lips. It's turned into something too terrible to consider against a brick wall or in a dark room with a person who can't or won't touch him without being instructed too, a person who won't even look him in the eye.

Derek repeats Stiles' name like Mrs. McCall whispers _God,_ at work, the way Stiles' dad mumbles his wife's name after too many drinks, and the way Lydia says _Oh_ after hours of staring at one of the mathematical proofs her teachers think are too advanced for her - let alone them.

Stiles bites harder into Derek's skin and pulls too hard at his hair, hoping to stop any more noise. His hand jerks harder in a messy rhythm, thankfully pulling sounds from Derek that are too guttural to be words.

+

His dad worries. He doesn't yell, doesn't hit him, but the way he sags as he watches Stiles feels worse than any type of hurt Stiles has known.

+

"Sometimes I hate myself," Stiles confides into the crook of Derek's neck, "sometimes I scare myself."

"You really think you're scarier than _werewolves_?"

Stiles knows it was supposed to be a joke, but somewhere along the line it took a wrong turn, dipping into Derek's self-loathing and anger and coming out too bitter to laugh at. Even for Stiles.

+

Stiles runs his fingers along the side of the jagged and meaty red line that Derek refused to explain when he showed up in Stiles' window still bleeding and unsteady on his legs. The wound is already knitting itself together quickly enough that Stiles can actually watch the wet red turn an angry purple that will eventually melt into waxy pink scar tissue before it fades into nothingness.

Stiles, for once, doesn't feel trapped in the moment or suffocated in the silence. He shoves Derek until he's sitting the bed and watches, running his hands up and down Derek's back as his body performs miracles. Curses? Stiles settles on super-human feats.

If Derek minds having Stiles at his back while he's injured he hides it well.

"You know, you're not superman. You're not invulnerable."

"Hmm," Derek rumbles quietly. He sounds sleepy and Stiles knows from experience he'll fall asleep and take over Stiles' bed if he's not distracted. "Maybe kryptonite is related to wolfsbane."

"Idiot," Stiles rolls his eyes, pushing Derek forward and onto his stomach. He rearranges them both before pulling Derek's hips up with practiced ease. If his touch is softer than normal and his prep of Derek more thorough, well, we all have our off days.

+

Their arms touch again when it's over and they're lying side by side, but this time Derek doesn't leave.

"This is so fucking stupid," Derek whispers just as Stiles is drifting off.

+

Derek is gone when Stiles' alarm wakes him up, which makes things easier to deal with. Stiles does some quick searches online, narrows down his options, and studies Google maps before he following the advice Danny had given him about computers and their histories last week. He carefully showers and dresses in an old shirt and sweatpants. He grabs a second change of clothing, new enough he has to rip of the tags before he shoves them in his backpack.

Stiles runs through his plan and backup plans in his head, turning them around and around until the sun sets. When he leaves the house h's calmer and more focused than medication has ever been able to make him feel.

+

Stiles calls in an anonymous tip from the payphone still left standing in the area. "I don't know! It's like some crazy feral guy with a fucked up face," he tells 911 operator. "It's trying to _kill_ me!"

He hangs up andstrips his gloves off on the way to his Jeep, shoving them in his bag. He drives three streets over and parks. The flashing lights of a cruiser show up within fifteen minutes and disappear just as quickly when there's nothing to be found. The people in the trucks that come after the police are gone are better armed and stay longer.

"Spread out," Gerard commands his men, "the man who catches this one gets dinner on me."

There are chuckles in the crowd, like they're all here for a scavenger hunt that just happens to involve the winner cutting a person in half.

+

When Gerard slides into his car with its wolfsbane coated handles he doesn't bother to check the back seat for humans. All it takes is a quick strike with the butt of a stolen shotgun and Gerard goes limp. Stiles manhandles him over into the passenger seat before sliding into the drivers' seat. He pulls away, observing the speed limit and every stop sign he encounters. When a cruiser pulls up next to him at a red light he smiles and nods to the officer, who nods back, oblivious to the fact that Stiles isn't driving his sleepy grandfather home for the night.

+

Gerard wakes up just as they pass the sign informing them they're leaving Beacon Hills. He doesn't struggle or test his restraints; instead he looks out the window before turning to study Stiles.

"How far are you prepared to go?" Gerard asks him.

Stiles shrugs. "I don't know," he admits, "but I'm thinking as far as it takes."

Gerard nods and for a moment there's a sense of peace between them even though they both know they're talking about the extremes people can be pushed into to protect what's theirs.

"You would have made a great hunter."

"My dad always said I could do anything I put my mind to," Stiles smiles and Gerard smiles back.

"He doesn't know the half of it, does he?"

+

Stiles leaves Gerard and his car behind the only adult theater in the town. He takes Gerard's wallet and watch with him as he walks towards the second address he'd memorized. He stops briefly at Taco Bell to buy a soda with Gerard's cash and to change clothes. His old clothes get stuffed into the trash outside.

"Danny," Stiles whines into his phone as he gets closer to the club with its flashing lights and heavy bass music, "come on, man, my ride ditched me here and I can't afford a cab."

Danny puts up minimal resistance and completely folds when Stiles casually mentions the name of the club and lies about shady looking characters.

+

Danny does a double take when he pulls up outside the club, his eyebrows raised as he looks from Stiles, to Stiles' too tight clothing, to the posters outside the club advertising scantily clad men.

Stiles tries to look embarrassed, "It's a long story?"

"I'll bet," Danny says dryly as Stiles slides in the car.

"Right, so what do I have to do for you to promise to never speak a word of this to anyone?"

Danny sighs, "I don't know if I want details or for you to promise to never tell me any details."

"So… gas money?"

"That works too."

+

Gerard's death makes the news along with growing agitation over an escalating sting of muggings in a neighboring city of Beacon Hills. Stiles' dad frowns down at the morning paper but doesn't read it when Stiles tosses it on the breakfast table. He's already heard, Stiles guesses.

School is canceled for the day in honor of their former principal, the whole town exchanging platitudes before covertly whispering about how so-and-so had heard Gerard had been found behind a seedy movie theater with his pants unzipped. The stories get wilder and wilder, and by the time school is back in session half the high school has it on good authority from someone else's mother's friend that Gerard was killed by a pimp, or possibly a prostitute of indeterminate gender when he got fresh with them.

Allison doesn't show up to school the next day and Stiles isn't sure how to feel about that.

"It's hard," Scott whispers to Stiles over his uneaten lunch, "this is the second time her family's made the news, you know? She wouldn't stop crying last night because some assholes were posting shit about Gerard on her Facebook."

Stiles decides he feels bad but not remorseful.

+

The new principal is nice enough. Human, Scott assures him like that makes any type of difference. Some monsters come with claws, others don't.

+

"You know," Stiles muses as he watches Derek moves around his room, picking up his clothes and pulling them back on, "sometimes I think that you've convinced yourself that the only way people can hurt you anymore is with physical pain."

Derek stills, turning to glare at Stiles before tugging his Henley over his head.

"It's not true," Stiles continues because Derek won't stop him and Stiles has never been a fan of self-control, "there are plenty of bad things that won't leave physical marks when they're done with you."

"Things like you?" Derek asks blandly.

There's a question there, one Stiles knows he needs to answer. "I'm the son of a cop who has spent the last year fighting monsters. So yeah, I have some ideas on how to hide the evidence," he admits.

Derek smirks; it's not a nice look. "You have more than a _few_ ideas. You probably made a list."

Stiles does have a list, one that isn't written down anywhere because Stiles knows that some things can't be explained away or overlooked- much less forgiven if discovered. "I wonder what Nietzsche would think about the monsters we fight."

"Teenagers," Derek scoffs, "always with Nietzsche."

"Well, you could always start sleeping with someone your own age if it bothers you so much," Stiles suggests with an overly sweet smile.

+

Stiles awakes with a gasp and a warm hand on his chest holding him down.

"You were dreaming," Derek's eyes are too wide, a little too frantic to hide the things Stiles doesn't want to find in them.

"Thanks, but I kind of figured it out on my own," Stiles snaps. His skin is clammy, making him itch and want nothing more than a shower to wash away the lingering reminders of sleep.

"Do you have nightmares a lot?"

Stiles bares his teeth, "Do you?"

+

"You look like shit," Scott greets him with a bright smile.

"Nightmares," Stiles admits. He has things he won't tell Scott, but this isn't one of them.

Still, Scott looks guilty because he always did have a heart two sizes too big for his chest. "I had wondered if you still were getting those," he murmurs, "what with everything going lately. If you want, we could do a sleep over? You, me, bad movies, and pizza?"

Scott, for all his flaws is still the single best person Stiles has ever known, selfless in ways others too often miss under his floppy hair and failing grades.

"Naw, I'm good," Stiles swallows, wanting to tell Scott - not for the first time - that his nightmares are about things Stiles is not equipped to fight. He dreams of his dad getting older and about monsters that watch him in mirrors.

The nightmares aren't all bad though, they keep him focused. Cautious. _Willing._ They make sure Stiles is doing the best he can. They make sure he's nurturing his spark so it's ready to turn into a blaze and that he's not breaking his dad's heart unless lives are at stake. They make him feel less crazy for taking a damaged and even more dangerous creature into his bed.

The nightmares aren't enough to make everything better, but it’s kept him alive, sated, and sane so far. Stiles isn't stupid enough to ask for more.

"Well," Scott clears his throat with a small smile, "you know where I am if you change your mind."

Stiles tries to smile but gives up half way through. Scott doesn't notice though, he's watching as Allison takes a seat on the other side of the room.

+

There's a row of scabs along Derek's back, filthy things that look like they're caked in a mixture of half blood and half dirt.

"You should take better care of yourself," Stiles complains as he looks them over. He shoves Derek into the shower with little resistance before following him in and scrubbing at Derek's back with more force than necessary. Derek doesn't complain and Stiles likes that even less than the sight of festering wounds.

When Derek and his wounds are clean and starting to heal Stiles shoves him against the tiles and does his best to crawl into Derek's body in hopes that if he's _there_ he won't be in his own head.

It doesn't work, and the water gets cold long before Stiles feels clean. Well, cleaner.

When he steps out of the shower Derek wraps a towel around him, pressing a soft kiss to his temple. Stiles closes his eyes at the touch, grateful that Derek won't ask any more than he's willing to tell Stiles about himself.

+

In the morning, Stiles' first thought after checking on his dad is to check on Derek's back. Stiles ignores the impulse, because Derek is a werewolf who can bounce back from bullets and knives and crazy uncles bent on revenge. Stiles isn't comfortable with his urge to worry over a wolf who isn't Scott. He still isn't sure how to best protect Scott, adding an alpha to the insanity that is Stiles' own fucked up version of love is just asking for more sleepiness nights and numbing panic in his life.

"We're not friends" he tells Derek, who's pretending to sleep, "I don't even like you half the time."

Derek cracks open his eyes, frowning at Stiles. "I know," he says with a calm certainty that makes Stiles wonder if Derek thinks anyone still alive could ever like him.

Stiles exhales loudly, pressing his face into Derek's chest. "What am I going to do with you?" The question is from a place Stiles doesn't want to acknowledge but it's there, slicing its way out of him.

Under him, Derek shifts and wraps his leg over Stiles's hips. "You can fuck me if you want to."

Stiles hates himself a little, but he hates the world more when he sees the lazy acceptance in Derek's eyes.

"Is this all you're good for?" Stiles asks because he needs to know if Derek actually believes it.

Derek shrugs though, like maybe he thinks this might be an ideal way to repay someone who cleans your wounds and doesn't actively try to hurt you. Stiles wants to say something, he's not sure what, but he puts that thought on the back burner. After all, there are always bigger problems than Derek's self-esteem in the town of Beacon Hills.

**Author's Note:**

> Was previously posted, then taken down. Now it's back up. Beware the errors and typos, I suspect the files I found on my old hard drive are the pre-beta versions.  
Please don't steal any of my silly stories and change some names around and then try to sell them as books on Amazon or I'm gonna have to take everything down again.


End file.
